𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐃.𝐌

Chapter Fifteen

THE SUN BURNED HOT on her face as Hermione threw the curtains of their dormitory open.

"Get up!" said Hermione, already stalking over to her four-poster. "We have a big week ahead of us."

Trying to see through the agonizingly bright light, Eden squinted her eyes. Hermione paced around the small dormitory. She could see her coffee curls dangling around her shoulders, but the light that blazed through the windows made everything blurry.

Hermione rattled on. "It's our last week at Hogwarts. Have you seen that article in the Daily Prophet?" she huffed. "Oh, of course, you haven't, you were fast asleep."

A headache loomed in the back of her brain as she mustered the strength to sit up. Hermione's garrulous chatter wasn't helping matters either.

Hermione prodded her shoulder with the Daily Prophet.

"Read it." She urged.

Eden scanned the title of the article.

HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS!

Hermione stood in front of her, blathering on and on, but reading about what had happened at the Ministry was making her relive everything. It was as though the horrible pain she'd felt when Bellatrix Lestrange cursed her, seeped into her limbs again. She felt it prickle, like the tremors of the Cruciatus Curse had never left her body. She watched Neville's blue eyes turn horrified, and rollback. A flash of red and green collided mid-air, and the red filled her sight. It blocked out everything else. Stark against the monochrome of black, with manic laughter that bellowed between her ears.

Shut up.

It only grew worse.

Eden looked up at Hermione, the movements of her lips were blurring now too. Eden couldn't make out a word of what Hermione was talking about.

Black hair.

Pain.

Red spells.

Thoughts of that night accelerated through her head. A burning sensation filled up her lungs as she struggled to breathe.

"Breathe for me. You can do it." Malfoy had said. She tried picturing the blonde. Tried feeling his sharp cheekbones resting against her forehead as he rocked her trembling body.

But Lestrange was laughing again.

And she couldn't breathe.

The edges of Hermione's face became even blurrier than they were before.

Colour threatened to leach out of everything.

And then, he was there. A lighting scar rippling across his forehead, emerald eyes peering worriedly through spectacles. His hands grabbing her shoulders.

"Calm down." He demanded.

His voice cut through the blurring.

She was gasped for air now, clutching her hands to her throat, trying to release an invisible force that was choking her.

Harry took her hands in his. He was warm. "Calm down," he soothed. "You're okay now."

Hermione's distant and muffled voice became clearer.

"I knew I shouldn't have shown her the Prophet!" she was saying bitterly. "She needs to lie down. We don't want her to have another seizure."

Adrenaline coursed through her veins. A seizure?